Saviors & Illusions
by Simply Jaded4
Summary: Bella married Edward six months ago. They left for their honeymoon, and no one has heard from Bella since. How does Jacob react? Who will be his savior from the depths of darkness into which he falls? And what is simply an illusion?
1. Chapter 1

**Saviors and Illusions**

**Part One: Drowning**

The wails and bloodcurdling screams could be heard throughout the small Quileute Reservation. It wasn't the first time La Push had heard them knife through an otherwise peaceful night—and no one doubted that it would be the last. These nighttime disturbances caused heartfelt sadness to the entire Tribe, but not like the very real pain and sorrow that it caused those closest to the one causing the disturbances. Within the confines of the little red house, a broken father couldn't control the tears that escaped his eyes and rolled silently down his aging cheeks. Within the cover of the forest rose the distressed howls of wolves and brothers. Within the four walls of the tiny bedroom, the man shook, cried and prayed for an end to it all.

The descent into darkness is rarely sudden, and it wasn't for Jacob either. In the beginning, he was simply melancholy and quieter than usual. Everyone agreed that this was to be expected and understandable. Who could blame the man really after all that happened in such a short amount of time? His friends and family continued to be very supportive, confident that all would be healed in due time.

Sadly, that wasn't mean to be. As time went on and no one heard a word from _her,_ the melancholy escalated until Jacob's life became unrecognizable. First, he became impatient and irritable with everyone to the point where most people just stopped trying to speak to him at all. Next, he began to skip his assigned patrols without warning. He wasn't just grumpy with everyone; he eventually stopped communicating with everyone, even his best friends, Embry and Quil. Even though people begged and pleaded for him to let them in, to allow them to help him any way they could, he ignored everyone's attempts. Jacob Black became a loner.

Simple, necessary things like eating and showering became an afterthought. While his sister and Emily attempted to feed him every chance they got, he refused the meals more often than not. He no longer cared at all what he looked like, so he didn't shower regularly, and allowed his hair to grow shaggy. Before long, he even stopped phasing completely. He claimed that he couldn't stand being inside the Pack mind any longer. He couldn't even tolerate being inside his own head anymore. The depression started to swallow him, piece by piece, before the shocked eyes of all that knew him.

It all culminated to the night that produced the nightmares and wails. It was the worst night Jacob had experienced, and not one he ever wanted to repeat. But how do you prevent something that happens every time you shut your eyes even for a minute?

Jacob hadn't slept for days. He gave up the luxury almost a week after he suffered through that night filled with nonstop nightmares, tremors, tears, and thoughts that brought him to his knees. He couldn't stand even the thought of a repeated night like the one he had endured. He knew they would come again. He knew that rest—true, restorative rest-was not an option right now. He also knew that he was exhausted and sick. He was keenly aware that he was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. For this reason, he decided that he was willing to chance sleep again. All he asked for was to sleep perchance NOT to dream. He just had to figure out how to make that happen.

With this need in mind, Jacob stumbled into his garage and looked around with the wild look of a man on the cusp of breaking apart at the seams. Somehow, some way, he had to find the stiches that would, at the very least, hold him together a little longer. He wasn't sure he would ever be made whole again…too much of his essence and spirit had oozed out in the cracks and tears of the seams that had snapped apart. He would have to live with that—what choice did he have really?—but perhaps he could do something to save himself from becoming an empty shell void of any substance altogether.

The only question that remained was how to accomplish this.

Jacob decided that he needed to exhaust himself to the point where he simply passed out. He reasoned that if his mind and body simply could not find a way to function in a conscious state any longer, then he would be able to fade away to the realm of the black and empty unconsciousness. What better way to tire himself out than to deconstruct and then reconstruct the garage from top to bottom? Determined, he pulled every single object off of the shelves that had not seen a scrubbing in years. He cleaned them now with a vengeance, scrubbing to the point where varnish and stain faded and disappeared completely in spots. He dumped every drawer, choosing what to keep and what to discard haphazardly. He organized each tool he owned in a desperate and slightly obsessive-compulsive manner. And he got down on his hands and knees to clean the concrete floor until not even a miniscule piece of dirt remained. Never before—not even when his mother was still alive, not even when his father finished building it—did the garage of the Black home look as pristine or organized as it did now.

Hours had passed. His heightened senses were aware of that fact. He scanned the garage once again, his eyes still wild and his body still sending desperate vibes. What he saw as he gazed came eerily close to breaking his will and self-control, though anyone else who viewed the scene would fail to see what was amiss. There was a shine to that old garage that was apparent in even the dull, naked bulbs that hung from the wooden beams of the ceiling. Nowhere would anyone find a spider web, a stain, or even an errant fingerprint. In each shelf, drawer, and available space, there was order and organization. Jacob had done magnificent work. Unfortunately, there were no words that could be expressed that would convince him of that fact. After all, he had failed at his set objective.

Despite the hard work and hours spent, Jacob Black was still not tired. Yes, he still felt the exhaustion that he had felt before he had begun the garage makeover, but it was still not enough. His mood was still as dark as the densest part of the forest surrounding his home. His emotions still ebbed and flowed in waves that alternated between depression, agony, wrath, and hysteria. His body still buzzed with so much electricity that Jacob himself wondered how he didn't shock himself as he raked his fingers through his greasy and shaggy hair.

"What else can I do?" Jacob whined as he turned around and around in circles. "What the fuck is it going to take?"

No sooner had Jacob screamed the question than his jet black eyes fell on the red motorcycle. It was difficult to discern the meaning behind the look that flashed across his face. There was the peculiar way that his mouth pulled at the sides, a look that was difficult to decide was a grimace from an unseen pain or a slight smile of satisfaction. There was a shine in his eyes that could either be interpreted as relief or disgust. His body language, with the hunched shoulders and absence of any movements, may be either a sign of defeat or of a newly found determination. In truth, it was doubtful that even Jacob would be able to fully or honestly explain his feelings at that moment. The sheer erraticism of each and every emotion of his at any second was overwhelming and consistently in a state of flux, and typically a combination of many all at the same time.

Regardless of his true feelings on the matter, Jacob attacked the unsuspecting bike with a vengeance. It was, after all, his last hope at achieving the exhaustion he craved. He also hoped beyond hope that the concentration and brute force that was necessary to work on the bike forced the never ending thoughts to vanish for a while. He was absolutely desperate for a quiet mind even more than he wished for a peaceful body.

Once again, Jacob encountered a problem: the bike was perfect. He had rebuilt the hunk of metal from scraps with his own two hands. Since the initial rebuilding, he had ensured that the bike continued to stay in the same well-maintained condition that it had started in his capable hands. This fact almost proved to be Jacob's ultimate failure and downfall, but he refused to allow that to happen. Not now. Not because of this damn motorcycle. Not this time.

"You think you are so fucking perfect, huh?" Jacob hissed at the motorcycle as he circled it menacingly. "Well, guess what? I can destroy your perfection. And then I alone will decide whether I leave you ugly and broken on the floor, or if I will make you beautiful and perfect again. Don't fuck with me. I am through with being mind-fucked."

A small part of Jacob, the part that still retained its purity and still cared what others thought, wondered silently what he must look and sound like to anyone who entered the doors as he lashed out at the inanimate object before him. He imagined that he appeared psychotic and somewhat deranged. Jacob narrowed his eyes, worried that it was true and that he had fallen into the realm of irreversible psychosis. That brief concern retreated quickly enough though once Jacob realized that it was nearly two o'clock in the morning. If he didn't do something quick, it would mean yet another night with no rest and no escape from it all. He would risk the deranged label.

Jacob spent the next hour all but destroying the bike that he had brought to life in the first place. In some places, he just took parts off or apart, while at others he bent and broke the parts completely. He worked at breakneck speed, and in the end his face was flushed and sweat poured down his neck and back from the effort. In a strange way though, it was very therapeutic for Jacob. There was power in destroying something, in dissecting something that was nearly perfect in composition before decided that he no longer desired it in that state.

"Not so perfect are you now, are you? Perfection is so overrated—and so unnecessary. Now you can stay like that until I, and I alone, decide that you should be anything else."

He laughed then, although there wasn't any humor in it at all. He had tried for hours not to think about anything but the task at hand. Now that it was finished, he couldn't control as they rushed to the forefront now. He wondered what _she _would think of the half-broken and battered bike lying before him. After all, he had built it at her request and for her.

He tried to convince himself that he could care less what she would think. He _tried._

Jacob trudged over to the old, much worn couch that sat in the corner of the garage and sat down heavily. After a few minutes of glaring at the broken motorcycle in front of him, he sighed loudly. He slumped forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and grasped his head in his hands. He felt defeated and like he had failed. Even after all the work he had completed, he still didn't feel as though he could sleep uninterrupted. Dawn's arrival was coming closer and closer, and yet he was still aware of the electric coil that snaked and slithered through his core. He was out of ideas, and soon he would be out of time.

Unless…

Jacob suddenly remembered the bottles of booze that had been leftover from the last time the Pack had celebrated some event in the garage. He couldn't even remember what they had celebrated, or even when exactly it had taken place. It seemed like so long ago that his soul had been eased enough to be happy about anything. Now those bottles seemed like a glass salvation. Maybe, if he drank enough, that burning amber liquid would seep into his senses enough to erase all thoughts, emotions, and even consciousness for a while. In his mind, it was certainly worth a shot.

With a weariness that is usually associated with the very old or the very ill, Jacob limped over to the cabinet and reached for the unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. He quickly cracked the seal and held the bottle up to the light. Although he no longer believed in their power to help or protect him—or even of their existence—Jacob sent a muttered prayer up to the spirits that this would work.

"Cheers…or whatever bullshit they say before you drown yourself."

Jacob hesitated for the span of two heartbeats before he brought the Jack eagerly to his lips. He guzzled the contents like a lost traveler in a desert who had found an oasis moments before certain death. Jacob's throat moved rapidly as he sucked every last drop from the bottle, barely breathing until nothing remained. He tossed the bottle to the side, not caring when he heard the glass bounce and then shatter all over the newly-cleaned floor.

Jacob fell against the couch once again, nearly knocking the thing over with his weight. He tossed his head back and smiled tightly as he enjoyed the feeling of the liquor slide down his throat and ooze to the different parts of his body. The feeling was a slow, burning meander, but it did not take long before the full effects began. In a matter of minutes, his limbs started to go numb and his thoughts became fuzzy. He swayed on the couch, not sure if the movements were in as slow motion as they seemed to be to him. Then again, he truly didn't care. All he cared about was the fact that, for the first time in a very long time, he felt numb and _good._

A chuckle escaped Jacob's throat as the liquor continued its assault on his senses. The edges of the garage blurred, and his vision started to become blurry and gray. He howled in a mix of relief and agony as that unconsciousness he had sought fervently took hold and pulled him into its grasp. With a thud that shook the entire structure, Jacob Black collapsed on the cement floor. His head lolled to the side, his arms splayed open in submission, and his movements ceased to an eerie stillness.

He had finally succeeded.

Meanwhile, the wolf that patrolled outside the property froze in fear and howled in panic. Jacob had no clue that one of his brothers lurked outside. He never knew it, but ever since his descent into depression, there was always a wolf not far away. Jacob, in his current state of mind, couldn't see that the way he was now affected everyone that cared about him. In all likelihood, he wouldn't have cared if he had realized it. He was so consumed by his thoughts and emotions that there just wasn't any room for empathy or understanding left. The Pack knew this, but despite his alienation of them, they still watched and attempted to protect their brother at all costs. Just as Jacob was at a loss as to how to help himself, so too was the Pack at a loss as to what else to do but keep a close eye on him. They had tried talking. They had tried consoling. They had tried distractions. They had even tried yelling and screaming at him, but all that had accomplished was a near disaster between Jacob and Sam. They had no other choice but to keep their around-the-clock silent sentry.

The wolf that heard the thud was Embry. In a way, it was both the best and the worst person that could have been patrolling at the time. The fact that Embry and Jacob had been friends since infancy made it the perfect choice to find Jacob passed out on the floor. Who else would have more concern and sympathy for Jacob than one of his closest friends? At the same time, the bond they shared caused Embry to panic and lose any objectivity.

The entire scene tore Embry apart. He phased and rushed into the garage. He stilled instantly as he saw Jacob, motionless and prone, on the floor. Fear flooded him instantly as he thought the worst thoughts possible.

"Jake? Jake, can you hear me? What they hell did you do?" Embry whispered.

He looked around frantically. Jacob wasn't moving and he wasn't answering. Had Jacob committed the ultimate act and found a way to end his own life? And with what? It was as these devastating thoughts ran through his head that he spied the shattered glass that covered the corner. Embry rushed over to it, noticing the Jack Daniels label in the middle of the ruins. He sighed audibly, and looked back over to where Jacob laid.

"So you just pickled yourself, Jake? Good. That should wear off soon enough."

Embry knew that, with their wolf metabolism, the amount of alcohol that Jacob had consumed would be enough to knock him out, but only for a short time. Soon enough, the stupor would wear off and Jacob would regain consciousness. He also knew that if Jacob had resorted to this, then he would be pretty pissed off when he did come around. Embry leaned over his friend, making sure that Jacob's heartbeat and breathing were steady and normal. Once satisfied, he covered Jacob with the flannel blanket on the couch before he stood up and watched his friend sleep. Embry hoped that Jacob's alcohol-induced slumber was peaceful. Convinced that there was nothing else he could do, and not wanting to be caught in the room when Jake awoke, Embry reluctantly exited the garage. He took one sad glance back at the closed door before running into the cover of the woods, phasing yet again and continuing his patrol.

This left Jacob alone on the floor again. He was still blissfully numb, yet tiny pieces of his brain began to register sensations. Although his eyes remained closed, he saw a shadow pass over his body. He heard quiet, subtle movements around him. He had no idea what it was saying, but he could swear that he heard a voice murmuring something close to his ear. And on his cheek and neck, he felt as warm teardrops fell onto him.

His lips strained to move, failing to utter any sound. He wanted to know who had disturbed his peace and quiet. He was furious that anyone had entered his space uninvited. Moreover, he was curious as to who cared enough to cry over his body. But none of these questions mattered enough for him to wrestle himself from the arms of unconsciousness. While the muttering and crying continues, Jacob once again gratefully surrendered to the darkness.

Embry had been right. Jacob had woken up shortly after the mysterious crier had faded away, and he had done so in a foul mood. He cursed the damn wolf genes that hadn't allowed him to stay passed out for hours on end like an ordinary person would have been granted. He would have even welcomed a nasty hangover at this point. A raging headache and nausea would have at least distracted his mind from once again dwelling on the current state of his life. If he was a normal person, the amount of alcohol he had consumed would have still rendered him drunk off his ass instead of stone cold sober.

Jacob would have sold his soul to the Devil to be normal and ordinary. Was it too much to ask for normal?

He was somewhat hopeful though. While it hadn't lasted for long, the drinking had succeeded in knocking Jacob out for a while. It had been bliss to not feel a damn thing. He had felt no pain, sadness or anger. For a precious span of time, he hadn't even felt his limbs or the aching in his stomach due to the general lack of food in it these days.

The only part of the situation that left him uneasy was the impression that someone had been beside him for at least part of the time. The presence had felt caring and soothing. It had even seemed devastated at seeing him as he was. He shook these beliefs off though. There had clearly not been anyone with him when he regained consciousness or a sign that there ever was. He excused it all away as both a dream and wishful thinking. He assumed that, deep down, he craved a loving presence so badly that his unconscious mind had created one for him. It made him feel even more pathetic.

But he refused to get sucked into the pit of negatives. In fact, Jacob decided that he hadn't failed at all, but rather he had simply not reached his ultimate goal. He came to the conclusion that one bottle of alcohol just wasn't enough for someone with his unique genes, so the next night he armed himself with another bottle of Jack and a case of beer.

Jacob cleaned up the shattered glass from the night before as he downed the bottle of amber liquid. Same as the night before, the liquor snaked its way through his system, leaving him tingling and fuzzy in both his mind and body. He was tempted to stop there. The buzz that ran through him was delicious and exciting.

"Too bad it won't last long, you pathetic bastard," Jacob admonished himself. He hated everything about himself at that moment. He hated what had happened in the story of his life. And he hated, most of all, how he had reacted to it and allowed all the circumstances to change him into what he had become.

Yes, he decided that the Jack definitely wasn't enough. He wanted so much more. Barely able to discern between one bottle to the next, Jacob chugged eight beers before he collapsed onto the garage floor just as he had the night before. Again, a brother rushed in—Quil this time—to ensure that he was just passed out and not something worse. Same as before, Jacob awoke after a few brief hours, pissed and distraught.

But most amazing of all was the fact that Jake again had the distinct impression that someone was with him as he lay in his drunken stupor. He could have sworn that someone had stroked his cheek, murmured words he could never quite understand, and cried while tears dropped softly on his face. Yet, when consciousness roared its ugly head, he was most certainly alone with no trace that anyone had been with him, nor any clue as to who it could have been.

What he did know was that he no longer believed in angels or guardian spirits. They didn't exist in his reality any longer, so it certainly wasn't one of those that soothed him on the floor. And these days, his savior came in the form of an empty bottle. That left only one explanation...illusions.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II: Intervention**

Jacob may have woken up angry and frustrated, but that only served to fuel the flame of his conviction. He was a man on a mission; however, he failed to see that it was a self-destructive and highly dangerous mission. All he could focus on was his belief that there had to be the perfect concoction that would effectively and wholly render him into a semi-comatose state, for perhaps even an entire day instead of mere hours. The mere thought of the ability to do so caused Jacob's heart to race and blood to flow with a renewed energy that he lacked completely the past few months.

Like a mad scientist, Jacob retreated to his makeshift sanctuary in the garage and devised his particular choice of combination for the night. Some nights he drank liters of vodka and rum as if they were water. Other times he drank cases and cases of beer with a vengeance. And at still other times, he mixed the alcohol and beer at nearly toxic levels. Certainly if Jacob was the ordinary human that he so wished to be, he would have suffered lethal results.

This behavior continued night after desolate night. Each time, Jacob did achieve success—to a point. He always passed out, and as he lay on the garage floor, his mind and body completely shut off as if someone had pulled the switch on all functions. Jacob reveled in this fact. The main problem was his ever-increasing standards. Jacob was never satisfied with the length of time he stayed passed out on the garage floor. What's worse was the fact that the buzz he received took longer and longer to achieve, and never felt quite as good as those he had experienced at the beginning of his little experiment. He was truly chasing that initial high and failing. Like any user and abuser of alcohol and drugs, he refused to believe that he could never recreate the feeling of the initial blissful buzz.

Jacob was, by nature, an extremely intelligent and mature person, but he was still a teenager after all. He knew little about the endorphin rush that comes from things like your first love, first passionate kiss, or first sexual experience. While all of those things can be repeated, the feelings they invoke can never exactly be replicated. In this way, the buzz from the substances and the high from passion are really fairly similar. In some cases, they are even directly linked to one another. Jacob also failed to see the correlation between his own passion and his descent into alcohol abuse.

Actually, Jacob neglected to see a lot as he spent night after night holed up in the garage and puttered around its four walls, waiting for the eventual oblivion to claim him. He had, by all appearances, given up on himself. His family—both that by blood and that which was created by choice and bonds—refused to do so. Billy continued to try to reach out to his son, and to pray daily for guidance and assistance. Rachel consistently made meals that were Jacob's favorites, and left a heaping plate on the table for him several times a day. More often than not, the plates went untouched. The rest of the Pack patrolled and continued to keep a watchful eye on Jacob's nightly activities.

Naturally, some members of the Pack were more sympathetic than others. When they heard the thud, whichever wolf was on "Jake duty" would rush in to check on Jacob. Embry, Quil, and Seth always took the sight the hardest. Being the closest to him, they would cover him with a blanket, place a pillow under his head, and position him as comfortable as possible so that his body wasn't too twisted when he came to.

The others were not as sympathetic. Paul was arguably in the most unenviable position of them all. He was tied to Jacob through the Pack, of course, but also directly to the Black's by virtue of the fact that Rachel was his imprint. It pained him to see what Jacob's actions were doing to the Pack morale, as well as how it was tearing up Rachel and Billy. This all put a terrible strain on Paul's already volatile temperament. He fluctuated between sympathy for Jake, and wanting to kick his ass up to the Canadian border and back. Twice.

For Jared, it was all about the Pack. His ties to Jacob were not as strong as that of the others. Regardless, he had to endure the emotions and thoughts of everyone else concerning Jacob. Plus, it was difficult to watch a man self-destruct the way Jacob was every day.

Sam was in a very unique position. He had always been the acting Alpha of the Pack, but it was common knowledge that Jacob was the rightful heir to the position. The fact that, up to this point, Jacob had refused to take over the leadership position didn't negate the fact that Sam still relied heavily on Jacob for his leadership, assistance, and opinions concerning the Pack each day. With Jake's life in such disarray, it left Sam alone to handle all of it by himself. Sam felt disappointed and helpless to find a solution that would help Jacob, and Sam despised feeling helpless in any facet of his life.

That left Leah, the only woman in the all-boys group of wolves. Jacob and Leah shared a special bond that was almost difficult to understand if you were an outsider. While Leah was known as bitter and bitchy, Jacob was full of sunshine, confidence, and strength. It was also well-known that, if Jacob chose to assume the role of Alpha from Sam, Leah would follow and accept him as her leader without a moment's hesitation. And because both were so vehemently opposed to imprinting, it enabled them to share a commonality and even to share confidences that they didn't share with most of the other members of the Pack. It tore Leah apart to sit on the sidelines and watch Jacob crumble before her eyes. It hurt her deeply that he avoided her at all costs, and even ignored her visits to his house. She missed her friend. Her emotions were seething just under the surface like pressurized gas whose valve was on the verge of erupting at any moment.

Because of this, Leah did the only thing she could do the next time it was her turn to check on Jake: she punched him in the face as he lay on the garage floor as hard as she could. She could no longer keep the valve in check. Part of her definitely felt guilty for breaking his nose, but she knew he would be healed by the time he regained consciousness. She also doubted he would even notice—or care—when he did wake up.

~o~o~o~o~o~o

The routine droned on and on for everyone involved, especially for Jacob. The days rarely varied. Jacob could no longer differentiate between sunset and sunrise, high tide and low, or inhaling and exhaling. He barely realized where he started and where he ended these days. He had lost himself. The world had become convoluted and muddled in hazy shades of gray.

The monotony changed late one night. It had been an especially difficult day for Jacob. He found even standing upright to be agonizing and almost too much to bear. His thoughts had turned darker than the blackest night, and he felt powerless to suppress them. He just didn't see the point anymore. What was the point in trying, in hoping… in breathing? He wandered into the garage without even realizing he was headed there. He had stocked up his liquor cabinet earlier in the day, and all of the shiny, unopened bottles seemed to beckon to him.

While Jacob routinely mixed liquor and beer, this night he was hopelessly out of control. He mixed and drank everything he laid sight on, not caring what or how much it was. He could no longer feel the buzz. He could no longer feel the euphoria of numbness. He could no longer _**feel**__._

The thud that came reverberated throughout the air with a deafening boom. Jacob's mind and body had finally caught up to the plethora of alcohol, and rendered him into a whole new level of oblivion. As usual, a wolf was nearby to rush in and check on him. Seth stood, astounded, at the destruction of bottles, objects, and a broken man on the floor. Seth's first priority was to ensure that Jacob was as okay as possible. He quickly assessed his friend, and decided that he was as all right as he probably could be.

"I—all of us really—wish you would stop doing this to yourself, Jake. You're killing yourself. And it kills us to watch you do it, and not be able to help you," Seth said to an unconscious Jacob. "Tell us how we can help."

Seth knew he would not receive an answer to his pleas. He just needed to say _something_, to get some of his thoughts off of his chest, to the man he had looked up to his entire life. Jacob wouldn't talk to anyone when he was awake, so Seth took advantage of the fact that his friend was a captive audience. It wasn't terribly gratifying to talk to someone who couldn't respond, but it was better than the usual nothing in Seth's mind.

His mind eased a bit, Seth then went about the business of covering Jacob. He wedged the pillow under his head, and turned him more on his side. He normally didn't position Jacob in this way, but he had landed on the ground in such a way that his upper body was already angled in that direction. And, even more than usual, Jacob was extremely dead weight and it was the only position Seth could manage alone. With tears in his eyes, Seth shook his head and hesitantly shuffled out the door.

Not long after Seth's departure, Jacob's condition deteriorated rapidly. Although no one was around to witness it, his heart rate slowed and his blood pressure plummeted dangerously. Next, the tremors began, and Jacob vomited violently, covering both himself and the area surrounding his body. Perhaps it was a work of divine intervention that Seth had only managed to turn him on his side. If he had been lying on his back, the possibility was great that he would have asphyxiated on the vomit in his sleep with no one around to help him.

That was when she entered. She had heard the vomiting, and knew that she had to intervene. She sensed that he was in a precarious position, walking a thin tightrope between life and death. She could not—she would not—let that happen. She wasn't sure what she would be able to do, or if she could make a difference at all, but she was determined to try her damndest. There was no way that she could sit idly by and watch any longer. She knew she only has a small window of opportunity in which to save his life, not just tonight, but for the future. It would not be easy on either of them, but she had to try harder than she ever had before.

"Jake? Jake. Jacob!" she called, each time her octave rising further.

He stirred slightly, but didn't answer or open his eyes. Some part of his brain registered that a voice was calling to him, but the darkness gripped him too tightly to find out who it was. Did it really matter anyway? It was probably just someone who had come to nag him, or another one of his booze-induced hallucinations. He wasn't in the mood for either one.

The voice wasn't going to be ignored though. He could either wake up the easy way or the hard way, but he **was** going to listen.

"Jacob Ephraim Black! Wake. Up. Now!" the voice yelled.

The use of his full name managed to grab his attention a little more. He groaned weakly in response, still unable to fully rouse himself or to open his eyes. He still didn't want to. He felt sick, and his head drummed painfully. What he really wanted to do was wake up, kick the ass of the person bugging him, and then slip back into his oblivion.

The voice was not about to let that happen. Oblivion time was over. She needed to get his attention, and she needed him to see the light one way or the other. Apparently, Jacob was choosing the hard way. She didn't care. It would have been nice to do things the easy way, but things with Jacob had always bordered on difficult…although they never needed to be that way at all. She knew that now. She knew a lot more now that she never realized before.

She shook her head rapidly in an attempt to erase the thought from her head. She couldn't think about such things at the moment. She had important work to do that did not involve dwelling on what she did and didn't know. She only had one objective, and that was to knock some sense into Jacob Black's very stubborn head.

As a large bucket on water rained down on his body, she couldn't help but smirk a bit. "Wakey, wakey, big, bad wolfy! It's time to get up," she called as the water continued to wash over his body.

Between her words and the coldness of the water, they finally awakened his senses. He jerked upright quickly and suddenly, only to stagger and sink back into a sitting position. The shock of the cold water may have awakened his senses, but it had neglected to bring back his equilibrium—that part was still controlled by the alcohol.

Jacob sat on the floor, slumped and swaying slightly, utterly confused by what was happening. He had no idea how long he had been out for this time. He had no idea why he was soaking wet and sitting in a puddle of cold water. Had someone been calling his name? And what was that God awful smell? He groaned again as a wave of nausea rolled menacingly in his stomach, and his head pounded with renewed strength. He decided that a horizontal position seemed less threatening, so he eased himself slowly towards the garage floor once again.

"And what do you think you're doing? Nap time is over, stinky. It's time for a conversation," she said, her tone a mixture of assertiveness and gentle joking.

Jacob blinked. His vision was hazy, there was an annoying ringing in this ears, and he could literally hear the blood rush through his head. Despite this, he could have sworn that voice belonged to…but that wasn't possible, was it? Jacob wondered absently just how much he had drunk. He truly had no clue, but he assumed it must have been a hell of a lot for him to be as vividly hallucinating as he was. It had to be that. It had to be just another damn illusion come to bust up his pity party.

"I'm over here, Jake. Can't you see me?" she asked.

He jerked his head up, searching for the face behind that voice. He didn't dare hope that it matched who it sounded like it matched. He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying desperately to clear his vision enough to see the person with him. More than anything else in the world, right now Jacob _needed_ to know who was with him. He needed to know if he had finally lost his mind, or if illusions can sometimes find their way into reality.

"Who? What? But…but…I…I don't…. What the fuck?" Jacob stammered, unable to express what his mind processed.

"That was really articulate, Jake. Would you like to throw a verb in there somewhere? Maybe a complete sentence? You know, just for fun?" she chuckled softly.

"What the holy hell did I _**drink?**_" Jacob moaned. He stared at the figure before him. His mind registered who it was, but his heart refused to believe it. Nothing that was going on made one bit of sense to him.

"Well, from the look of the mess around here, I'd say more than enough."

Jacob just stared at her, open-mouthed but silent. His mind reeled with more questions than his intoxicated brain could handle at the moment.

"Are you just going to sit there and stare at me?" she asked softly. "Don't you have anything to say to me?"

Jacob opened and closed his mouth a few times before he could force any words to escape. "Sure, sure, I have something to say. Let's see…how about who the fuck are you?"

Now it was her turn to be shocked into silence. She expected him to ask and say a plethora of things, but asking who she was had never crossed her mind.

"What do you mean? Jake, you know who I am," she replied cautiously. She had never been afraid of him, not even when he phased to his wolf form. She had always known that Jake, of all people, would never hurt her. Yet, she was a little scared now. The man who stood in front of her was not Jake, but rather a man that looked just like him purely on the outside.

"Bells?" Jacob said. His voice was so low it was almost undetectable, and his tone was one of utter disbelief.

"Yes, it's me, Jake," Bella replied, smiling at her old friend.

"But how? When? I don't believe it. How?" Jacob questioned.

"I thought we went through all of this before. You still can't find a verb in there somewhere?" Bella chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. She knew they would come, but she was frightened of all of his questions. She had no idea how to answer them or how to explain everything to him. It would be difficult enough to have this conversation with him, but with him in this condition it was damn near impossible.

"Okay, fine, we'll do it your way. When did you get back in town? Did Charlie know you were coming because my dad never said a word to me?"

"I'm not really 'back in town,' and Charlie has no idea I'm here. You can't tell him you saw me either. In fact, you can't tell anyone you saw me.

"What do you mean you're not really back in town? And why can't Charlie or anyone else know? Do you have any fucking clue what your father has been going through? What all of us have been going through? Did you forget how to use the phone? The mail? Or do you just not give a shit anymore?" Jacob said heatedly.

The alcohol was burning off rapidly now. The strange combination of being awakened by the water, Bella's surprising appearance, and his own anger had sped up his body temperature to where the alcohol had dissipated to the point where it was as if he hadn't had a drink at all. The good news about that was that he had sobered up, and his life was no longer in jeopardy at the moment. The bad news was that Jacob was pissed and his emotions were extremely volatile.

"Calm down, Jacob. There's no need to get all worked up right now," Bella said. She tried to calm him down, as she watched his hands shaking noticeably. She couldn't risk him losing his control and phasing in the garage. That wouldn't help her cause in the least.

"No need? Is that a joke? I guess to you it may be no big deal. After all, you got everything you want. You got your fucking sparkly leech. You got happily ever after. What did the rest of us get? Please tell me, Bella! Help me to understand why I shouldn't get 'worked up'! Explain to me why I shouldn't hate you right now. Tell me why you couldn't even drop me a goddamn postcard to tell me that you were okay! Damn you, Bella Swan! Damn you for putting me through fucking hell these past six months, without so much as a word to your own father, only to have you waltz back in here and tell me to calm the fuck down!"

Jacob paced the floor of the garage as he ranted and yelled at Bella. His entire upper body shook in rage and frustration. Every so often he grabbed a tool or part to the still dissected motorcycle and flung it against the already dented wall. He kicked any objects that dared to be in his path, as he wreaked havoc on the already messy surroundings.

"I'm sorry, Jake. I had no choice," Bella answered simply.

Jacob stopped and stared at her. "That's all you have to say? 'I'm sorry' is your only answer? What the fuck, Bella?"

"Nothing happened the way I thought it would, Jacob. I'm sorry is all I have to offer. I wish things could have been different, but I can't change what has happened. I wish I could, but I fucking can't!" Bella yelled.

That stopped Jacob's rant, even as more angry words were bubbling in his throat. He had never before heard Bella curse. In fact, she had often cringed slightly when the Pack did and that was often. Had he just imagined the word that had just rolled off her tongue as if it was commonplace? Had he upset her so much that she acted so out of character?

"Excuse me? Did you just say fuck, Bells?"

Bella giggled. "First, yes I did. Second, you have no idea how good it feels that you finally called me Bells. Now I actually feel like I am talking to my Jake, and not the one I found on the garage floor."

"But…but you never curse. What changed?" Jacob asked, still shocked.

"I guess I've changed. I mean, it's just a word, right? Plus, I needed you to shut up and calm down. It worked, didn't it?" Bella smirked.

"Well, yeah. You shocked the shit out of me," Jacob admitted. He paused and ran his hands through his disheveled, greasy hair. "I'm sorry I yelled at you so much, Bells. It's just…"

"Believe me, I know. I know why you yelled at me, and it's completely understandable. I missed you too," Bella said, cutting off his explanation.

"Then why the hell have you stayed away so long? Is it _him_? Wouldn't your perfect dictator husband _allow_ you to talk to anyone, even Charlie?"

"Not exactly, Jake."

"Then what exactly, Bells? Why?"

Bella sighed deeply. "It's really tough to explain. Just a lot of things happened after the wedding, and I…I just _couldn't_ get in touch with Charlie, you, or anyone else for that matter. I know that really doesn't answer your question, but it's going to have to be good enough for now. I can't stay here much longer."

"You have to go already?" Jacob asked. His emotions began their rollercoaster ride once again. He was frustrated by her lack of answers to his questions, and he was still angry at her for months of neglect. He was worried that she would leave, and not return again for months. And, though he was ashamed to admit it, he was scared to be left alone yet again in his half-destroyed garage full of bittersweet memories, broken objects, and tempting booze. How would he survive until morning? How much more could he take…of it all?

"Soon, yes. But before I do, I have a few things to say to you, Jacob Black," Bella said, her hands on her hips. It was high time someone gave him a good lecture about his recent behavior and habits. She knew that his family and friends had tried and failed to get through to him, but he **would **listen to her tonight. She had worked too hard to get to him to just walk out without at least trying her hardest to talk some reason into the man before her. She wasn't sure it would work, but she prayed with every ounce of her soul that her words would at least make a little crack into the fortress that Jake had constructed around himself.

"What do you have to say, Bells?"

"For starters, what the hell are you doing to yourself?"

"What are you talking about? I have no idea what you mean," he replied as he cast his eyes downward and turned his back to her ever so slightly. He still peeked at her through his peripheral vision, but he couldn't look her in the eye. Denial had become a much easier place for Jacob to dwell in lately.

"Cut the crap, Jake. You know damn well what I'm talking about. Why are you trying to kill yourself?"

"What? I'm not trying to kill myself!"

"Really? Are you sure about that? Then what are all of these broken bottles on the floor about? Why did I find you passed out on the floor tonight, covered in your own vomit? Do you have any idea how low your heart rate was when I got here? If I hadn't thrown that bucket of water on you when I did, you probably would have either gone into a coma or died."

Jacob flopped back to the floor at the end of Bella's speech. He didn't know what to say. He hadn't been aware that his condition had been that bad, and he didn't know how to explain it. He was ashamed of his behavior, and horrified that Bella had found him that way. He also doubted that she would understand why he did what he did. He wasn't sure he could explain it without sounding like a pathetic fool.

"I was fine," Jacob muttered weakly.

"You were not fine. You are **not** fine, even now. Stop and think about what would have happened if I hadn't come, Jake. Would Rachel have found you? Would it have been Billy who had found your body? Maybe Embry or Quil? Would you have wanted that for any of them?" Bella demanded.

"I…I…no, but…I just…" Jake trailed. He didn't know how to answer her. He wasn't even sure he believed that things were as bad as she described.

"Wow, another very articulate statement. Have you been studying Shakespeare since I've been gone? Your speech has really grown to a whole new level," Bella said, sarcasm dripping in her voice.

"Very funny, Bella."

"I don't think anything about this is funny, Jake. Care to answer my question now?"

"No, of course I wouldn't have wanted that for any of them. I think you're being a little dramatic, Bells. So I had a little too much to drink tonight. So what?"

"A _**little too much?**_ You need to wake up, Jake, and see what you are doing to yourself and everyone who cares about you," she said. "When's the last time you have taken a long, hard look at yourself in the mirror? You're dirty and greasy. You've lost like, a ton of weight. And you smell, Jake—horribly."

"You're always with the compliments aren't you, Bells."

"I don't have time for compliments. I have to go very, very soon. I'll be back, but only on one condition," Bella added quickly at seeing his distressed expression at the news she was leaving again.

"What's the condition?"

"I will only come back when you have eaten all of your meals like a good little boy, and taken a shower."

"Are you serious?"

"You have no idea how serious I am, Jake. Now get your ass in your house, take a shower, and get some sleep now," Bella said assertively. "I'll be back when you do what I asked."

"How did you get here? Let me walk you to your car first," Jake said, trying to prolong her leaving.

"No, Jake, I'm fine. Get in that house like I asked, and do what I said. I'll see you soon."

"But…."

"NOW!" Bella demanded once again.

Jacob knew she wasn't going to budge about this. A part of him also knew that she was right; he was hungry, he was tired, and he did smell. Reluctantly he walked towards the garage door to obey her command. He reached for the knob before he paused, unable to bring himself to open it and walk away from Bella. He was still afraid she wouldn't come back.

"I will be back, Jake. I promise."

He simply nodded his head slowly, but never looked back to see the expression on her face. He couldn't bear it. The pain was just too great.

"Jake?"

Yeah, Bells?"

"I love you. Never forget that."

"I won't. I love you too, Bells."

With that, Jacob walked out of the garage and straight into his house. He never looked back. He never saw Bella leave. All he could hope for now was that she hadn't been an illusion and that she would keep her promise and return to him soon.


End file.
